


Vignettes of Family Life

by DayenuRose



Series: Untangling the Threads [4]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Ballet, Description of Injuries, Disney Songs, Friendship, Future Plans, Gen, Jim Gordon is a Good Dad, Multi, Parent-Child Relationship, Siblings, Sign Language, family life, injuries, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayenuRose/pseuds/DayenuRose
Summary: In or out of uniform, the Batfamily is family. And families have a million different dynamics. Here's a glimpse into the various interactions that play out between the family.





	1. Video Games - A Dick and Damian Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has plans to spend the weekend in Gotham with his family. On his way into town, he stops by the Manor and finds Damian there alone.
> 
> Takes place before 'Missing Pieces.'

“Hey kiddo,” Dick said as he turned into the den and dropped his bags beside the door. Coming up behind Damian, Dick propped his elbows on the back of the couch and watched as his younger brother played _Supreme Ninja Knights III_. 

“Shh. I’m concentrating,” Damian hissed. He leaned forward with elbows on his knees and the controller clutched in his hands. His eyes never wavered from the screen. 

Dick tumbled over the couch and grabbed a second controller. “Can I play?” 

Damian sighed heavily, but paused the game and waited for Dick to login and join. Dick gnawed on the inside of his cheek while he watched his little brother from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t unusual for Damian to come across as prickly and annoyed. Like Bruce’s scowls and Dick’s grins, Damian hid behind his imperiousness. Most of the time Dick could see behind the facade and detect when the boy was truly annoyed and when he was only pretending to be. 

“What’s wrong?” Dick leaned against Damian until the younger boy was pressed against the edge of the couch. 

In a half-hearted attempt to free himself, Damian pushed back against his brother. If he wanted to—if he’d been truly irritated by Dick’s actions—Damian could have freed himself with ease. Instead Damian pressed the button to resume the game.

“You’re taking too long to log in,” Damian said without any real bite to the words.

Dick sat up, allowing Damian to resume his gaming position. It took Dick a moment to refamiliarize himself with the control pad before joining in the digital battle.  He had beaten this game years ago, so it didn’t take him long to find the game’s rhythm. While they built up to the boss battle at the end of the level, they played in companionable half-silence.

As the shuriken spun in the corner of the save screen, Dick turned to his brother. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“No.” Damian repeatedly jabbed at the controller as though that would speed up the transition to the next level. 

Dick tried another tactic. “Why the sudden interest in _Supreme Ninja Knights_? Aren’t you a little young to be feeling nostalgic?”

“They are releasing the sixth instalment soon, therefore I’m playing through the entire series in preparation.” 

“Good idea....Oh, the level’s starting.” Dick lagged behind, allowing Damian’s avatar to take the lead. 

Once again, they fell into silence as they played except for the occasional exclamation when the game didn’t go their way. It was a good thing Dick was patient; he could wait until Damian was ready to talk. 

Halfway through the level as they battled a mid-level opponent, Damian spoke. “Why did you come?”

“To Gotham?” In his confusion, Dick failed to defend against an obvious attack. His avatar’s health dropped to dangerous levels. “I came out to spend time with all of you.” 

Damian transferred a health potion to Dick. “Father’s gala is this weekend.” 

“I know. That’s why I chose this weekend instead of last. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to spend time with all of you.” 

“Are you taking Gordon?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tt.” It was Damian’s turn to miss an obvious attack. “Then, you came to see your girlfriend.” 

Dick paused the game. “I thought you liked Barbara.”

The younger boy shrugged. “She is fine. 

“Then what’s wrong?”

Damian tried to restart the game, but couldn’t since Dick was the one who paused it. “No one is home anymore,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry kiddo.” Dick knew his little brother well enough to know that the boy probably wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone else in the family—not even Bruce. “Even though things are changing, I want you to know that you’ve always got a place with me, okay?”

Damian nodded. 

“Do you want to go on patrol with me tonight? We could hit the arcade and grab dinner before hand.”

“That would be...acceptable,” Damian said.

“Alright. I’m going to restart the game now. We cannot let this mid-level goon get the better of us or the Robin name will never live down this defeat.”

“You’re on, Grayson.” Damian grinned.

 

As they beat the level and the cutscene played across the screen, Dick stood and stretched. “Hate to play and run, but I’ve got to get a few things done before we can hang out.”

“Like what?” 

“Lots of things. I need to talk to Bruce. Babs and I have plans for coffee and I promised Tim I’d meet up with him for lunch. And there’s some errands to take care of that can only be done in Gotham.” Dick checked his watch. “Why don’t you meet me at the arcade at five.”

“Very well.” Instead of continuing the game, Damian began the process of logging out. 

“I’ll see you there.” Dick hopped over the couch and headed for the door. 

“Wait,” Damian said. He followed Dick to the door and grabbed one of his brother’s bags. “I preordered _Supreme Ninja Knights VI._ When it arrives, will you play with me?”

“Sure thing, just let me know when you get it and I’ll be here.” 

“Promise?” Though he wouldn’t meet Dick’s gaze, the expression on Damian’s face was so earnest and vulnerable.  He grasped the bag’s strap until his knuckles turned white and his nails bit into his palms. The muscles in his arms were pulled taut as he waited for Dick to answer. Damian mentally prepared himself for the inevitable rebuff and rejection.  

Dick felt the protective surge swell in his chest as it did whenever his little brother expected the worse out of them. It was only after Dick had met his younger siblings that he realised how fortunate he’d been in his earliest upbringing. The Graysons never had much in the way of material possessions (especially in comparison to the Waynes or the Drakes), but his parents had lavished him with love and care. He knew since the moment he was born that he was wanted and cherished. The others hadn’t had that.  Dick wrapped his arms around Damian in a hug. 

“Promise. I’ll always be here when you need me.” 

 

 


	2. A Small World – A Babs and Steph Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In or out of uniform, the Batfamily is family. And families have a million different dynamics. Here's a glimpse into the various interactions that play out between the family. 
> 
> \----
> 
> Steph is hanging out in Bab's office at Gotham University and they end up discussing Steph's plans for the future.
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place before 'Missing Pieces.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to angel_gidget for spending a day talking comic books with me and introducing a relatively new comic reader to many of the corners of the DC comics universe.

“Steph.”

“Steph!”

“STEPH!”

“What?” Steph started and yanked her headphones back, looping them around her neck. She blinked at Babs like she was surprised to see the other woman, even though this was Barbara’s university office. 

“I don’t mind you hanging out in my office between classes, but if you’re going to stay, you need to stop singing. If you serenade me one more time with how much you _want to be king_ or how _shiny_ you are, I will kick you out of my office. Literally, if need be.” 

A malevolent grin slowly spread across Steph’s face. “Are you saying you want me...”

“No. No. No.” Babs shook her head while resigning herself to the inevitable. 

“... _Let it go.”_

“Out,” Babs laughed around a scowl. 

She scooped up a rubber band from her desk and shot it at Steph. Seeing the attack coming, Steph raised her hands to protect her face. The rubber band ricocheted harmlessly off her hands and fell to the ground.  

“Missed.” Steph grinned as she lowered her hands. She failed to notice the incoming second attack. This one found its target and stung her earlobe. “Ow.” 

“Are you finished singing?” Babs asked as she crossed to the coffee maker and started a new pot. 

“If it saves me from any more rogue rubber bands, then mums the word.” Steph flopped back against the arm of the couch and rubbed at her eyes with the side of her fist. She fought back a series of yawns as she returned to the project on her laptop. She started to hum absently. 

Babs leaned against the ledge beside the coffeepot and waited for it to brew. She pushed her glasses up and massaged the bridge of her nose. Steph wasn’t the only exhausted one. When the coffeemaker beeped, Babs prepared two mugs without needing to ask how her guest liked her coffee. She made Steph’s with too much sugar and too much cream and her own with just a smidgen less of both. 

“Why Disney songs?” Babs handed Steph the mug. 

Steph accepted the mug and blinked at the ripples in the light brown surface. “Was I singing again?”

“Humming.” Babs moved Steph’s backpack to the floor. “Scootch over.” 

Closing her laptop, Steph pulled it onto her lap and made room for Babs. “Thanks for the coffee and sorry about the humming.” 

“It’s fine.” Babs waved it off with a flick of her hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“The Disney songs?”

“Well, I am curious and the songs are now stuck in my head too.” Babs sipped at her coffee. 

“If you’re expecting a tragic backstory, you’ll be sorely disappointed. There really isn’t much to tell. It’s not that dramatic.”

“Whatever the story is, it’s clearly on your mind.” 

Steph drummed her fingers against her laptop. She breathed deeply before beginning her story. 

“When I was a kid we had a stack of used Disney VHSes and I had one of those VCR/TV combo things in my room. When it was just me and mom at home, I’d watch them like any kid watches their favourite movies. Sometimes mom would snuggle up with me and we’d watch a movie together. But, when dad was around it was a different story. I spent more time alone in my room. He all but locked me in my room when his ‘friends’ came over for ‘poker nights.’” Steph included finger quotations when she said ‘friends’ and ‘poker nights.’ 

“I basically watched those tapes until they were demagnetized and I had memorized most of the lines. By the time I only had a few tapes left, I was old enough to wonder what dad was up to. I’d put on a movie and sneak out of my room. You could say those were my first lessons in being stealthy. While I snuck around the house, I overheard dad’s plans. At first it was just listening and putting pieces together. Eventually I figured out that if I didn’t do anything to stop him, no one would. And, the rest is history.”

Babs gestured at Steph’s laptop. “Does this have anything to do with the project you’re working on?”

“Sort of. I’ve been thinking about why I started hero-ing.” 

“What brought on the self-reflection?”

“My faculty advisor was asking me about my plans for the future. After graduation.”

Babs nodded. She’d been asking her students the same thing. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“Lots. But not necessarily ones I can share with her.” Steph sipped her coffee. 

“Are they thoughts you can share with me?” 

Steph mulled it over. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Cross my heart.” Babs drew an ‘x’ over her heart with her index finger. 

“You’ve definitely been spending too much time with Dick.” Steph laughed and eased into the subject. “I want to be a psychologist. For superheroes.” 

“I can see why that would be difficult to explain.” Babs mulled over the idea. Over the years, she’d worked with the majority of the heroing community. She had an insight into their foibles and struggles that most people couldn’t even guess at. And that divide was the problem. How could you get help, if you could only reveal half your identity at any one time? But, someone already initiated into their community, she would have an advantage.  She could help the whole person. There would be no need to hide because she already knew who you were and she knew what it meant to keep a secret identity. “You’ll have your work cut out for you, but I believe you can do it.” 

Steph grinned and hugged Babs around the laptop and coffees. “Thanks. That means the world to me.” 

Babs switched back into business mode. “Which grad schools are you considering applying to?” 

“Well, the psychology departments at Ivy and Hudson Universities have good reputations and are highly regarded by the academic community.” Steph opened her laptop and pulled up the document she’d been working on. 

“But...?”

“But, Central and Metropolis Universities have classes concerning the psychology of superheroes.” 

“The homes of Flash and Superman.” 

“Right.” Steph tugged the end of her ponytail and twisted it around her fingers. “The problem is that those classes aren’t based around any practical experience with the superheroes. It’s all observational and extrapolation.” 

“I’m familiar with all those schools and I’d say any of them would be a good choice. Even if they don’t have classes that pertain directly to superheroes, you’ll still learn a lot about dealing with trauma in all its forms. You’ll find that our motivations and struggles aren’t so different than those without superhero careers. It’s just when we lose control, we have the possibility of hurting a lot of people. The people we’ve sworn to protect.”

“That doesn’t help much with making a choice.”

“You can always apply to all of them and see which can give you the best offer. And, if you end up in Metropolis or Central City, I know Lois and Clark and Barry and Iris would be more than willing to help you out.” Babs paused in her advice as a new thought struck her. “Wait. Can I see your laptop?” 

“Be my guest.” Steph handed it to Babs. 

After a moment of rapid typing, Babs returned the computer. “These two might be able to give you some advice about working with superheroes.”  

Steph scanned the screen. “Where’s Oolong Island?” 

“Off the coast of North Korea. That’s the most recent data I have for Rocky Davis. He’s had some experience counseling heroes and last I heard he was helping Doom Patrol.” 

“Hmm.” Steph had heard of the Doom Patrol, but was unfamiliar with Davis. She’d have to see what else she could find out about him later. She scrolled down to the next name. “Who’s Lilith Clay?”

“She’s working as an addiction counselor. When you contact her, ask Dick to put in a good word for you.”

Steph nodded, not needing more information at the moment. If Dick knew her, there was probably a Titans connection and thus a secret identity. She saved the data and began the process of shutting down her computer. “Thanks for the advice and info. At least I can tell my advisor I have some schools in mind. Now, I just have to figure out how to afford more schooling.” 

Babs stretched and stared down at her empty coffee cup. “If you’re considering a part time job, I could put in a good word for you down at the coffee shop. Do you have time before your next class? We could head over there now, get some more coffee and sandwiches.”

“Yeah, I have time. Though I think I’ll skip the coffee. If I drink anymore, I’ll start vibrating and you might confuse me for a Speedster at rest.”

Babs half-sighed half-groaned as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “Come on, my treat.”

Steph grinned and kept pace with Babs. They chatted about Babs’ class load for the next semester while they passed through the halls of the Rossum Computer Sciences Building. 

Once they were outside and away from any listening ears, Steph changed the subject.  “You miss it, don’t you?”

“Miss what?” Babs asked though she knew what Steph meant. 

“Being Oracle. Being the person everyone comes to for the answers.”

Babs shook her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I still do some of it. Besides, I love being Batgirl.” 

“So did I. But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss being Oracle.”

Though Babs considered keeping up the ruse, she knew she couldn’t continue lying to Steph and be honest with herself. “You’re right. Even when I gave up the Oracle identity, I never really gave up _being_ Oracle.”

“I know. I mean, look at you. I tell you I want to be a psychologist for superheroes and I see in your eyes that you figured out in minutes everything that it’s taken me days to consider. And, on top of that, you gave me contacts I didn’t even know I could look for. You have a gift.”

Babs shrugged. “I’ve been in this for a long time, that’s all. Over the years I’ve made a lot of connections and put a of number systems in place. Just because I go out as Batgirl doesn’t mean I lost the Oracle part of me. For now, I’m content with being both.” 

“Do you think you’ll ever stop?”

“Being Oracle. Probably not. Being Batgirl, I don’t know. I’ve put the identity aside before. I like to believe that I’ll know when it’s time to pass on the mantle again.” She massaged the spot where the implant bridged the injury to her spine. “I suppose only time will tell what the future holds. How about you? Do you think you’ll still be Spoiler when you’re Dr. Brown?”

Steph grinned. Dr. Brown. She liked the sound of that. “As you said, only time will tell.” 

 


	3. A Different Kind of Home – A Dick, Babs, and Jim Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted from the gala at Wayne Manor, Babs and Dick spend the night at Jim Gordon's house. Dick finds that life at the Gordon's is quite different from life at the Wayne's.
> 
> Takes place the day after 'Missing Pieces.'

For a brief moment, when Dick woke up he didn’t recognise where he was. The bed, the room, and the view from the window were all unfamiliar in the haze of semi-wakefulness. Sitting bolt upright, he batted at the blankets that held him captive. He fought back the swell of panic beginning to rise in his chest and catch at his breath. His feet were already over the side of the bed while his hands groped for a way to defend himself, when he heard Babs bantering with Jim in another part of the house.

That’s right. After the abduction and all that followed, he’d spent the remainder of the night with Babs at her dad’s house. He sagged back against the pillows and readjusted the blankets as his breathing slowly returned towards normal. 

When they’d arrived, even through his bone deep weariness, he’d been too wound up to sleep. Babs, beyond exhausted herself, sat with him and listened to him ramble. Eventually he’d fallen asleep in the guest room with Babs cuddled next to him and her arms holding him close. To his surprise, he’d actually slept and slept well at that. Pushing himself up, he yawned and stretched. The blanket fell from his shoulders and settled over his lap, leaving his chest bare. His formalwear from the previous evening laid crumpled in a pile beside the bed. He didn’t want to put it back on, but wasn’t certain what else he had to wear while he was here. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Babs said from the doorway. She wore a pair of cut-off jean shorts that were long enough to cover the scars on her thighs and a well-worn Cubs t-shirt that was faded and thin from much washing.

Crossing the room, she sat on the bed beside him. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. “Definitely a good morning.” 

She laughed and pushed herself off his lap. “Well, it won’t be one for much longer if you don’t get out of bed soon.”

“Hm? Why won’t it be good?” He raised an eyebrow. He was definitely feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. It probably wouldn’t last, but for now, he wanted to revel in it. 

“Oh, the good part will remain. It’s the morning part that’s about to pass us by.”

“As long as the good remains, I don’t care about the rest.” He caught her arm and tried to tug her back down on the bed. 

“Not now, handsome lover boy. Dad, wants to get the steaks on.” She handed him a stack of clothes. 

“Steaks?” While he wouldn’t say no to steaks, he didn’t know they were on the menu. All he was certain about today’s schedule was that they were due at the Manor to give Bruce a full briefing of last night’s events. _Oh joy_...He wanted to sink back under the covers and go back to sleep. 

She batted the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. “I forgot. In all the chaos last night, I never had a chance to tell you. Dad invited us over for lunch and to watch the Cubbies.” 

“Will I be kicked out if I don’t cheer for the Cubs?”

“Yes.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “Now, get dressed, I’ll see you out there.” 

 

When he emerged from the guest room, Dick found Babs seated cross-legged on the couch with a mug of coffee in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He swept up the paperback novel that laid on the couch beside her and took its place. “What are you doing?”

She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Last night dad said he was having some trouble with his DVR, but I can’t seem to find the problem.” 

“Could he have been mistaken?” 

“No...wait.” She narrowed her eyes as she considered the idea. “Dad!’

“Yes.” He stood in the doorway between the living and dining rooms. 

“There’s nothing wrong with your TV.” 

“The TV? No. Nothing’s wrong with...” A baffled expression crossed his face for half a moment before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, that’s right. I know.” 

“Then why’d you let me think there was something wrong?” She tossed the remote aside and wrapped both hands around her mug. Dick shifted in place. He didn’t like where things were headed. 

Jim shrugged. “Things were getting a bit maudlin last night, so I was attempting to change the topic by poking fun at myself. Then, you invited yourself over and who am I to stop you?”

“Dad.” She sighed heavily and pushed herself up from the couch.

Instinctually, Dick tensed in expectation of the inevitable explosion of incriminations and excuses. Was nowhere safe from this kind of thing? The morning had started out so well....

“Sorry Babs. It completely slipped my mind that I told you that. I should have said something about it this morning.” Jim grinned sheepishly. 

She crossed the room to her dad and gave him a hug. “It’s okay. I forgot to tell Dick he was invited for lunch. Though, next time you want me to come over, just ask.” 

“You bet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I should get those steaks started. You’re both probably starving.” 

Dick blinked. It was over that fast. No one yelled. No one blamed. There’d been no attempt at manipulation, only an honest mistake. And an apology that wasn’t cajoled or reluctantly given. Apparently such homes did exist. It was the kind of home he remembered from his pre-Bruce days, but over the last few years he’d started to wonder if it had been a figment of his imagination. It was good to know that the fond memories of his early life were possible after all.  

“Thanks.” She headed over to the entertainment center and began flipping through a collection of records. “I still owe you a dance.” 

“After lunch,” Jim called from the other room as Babs put a record on the turntable and dropped the needle. 

While music filled the silence, Babs returned to the couch and sat down beside Dick. She rested her head on his shoulder and held his hands. “You okay? You look like you were expecting a fight?”

“I think I kind of was.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “You know how things are at the Manor these days. If there’s more than two or three of us staying, there’s an underlying tension. And mornings are the worse. We’re all still groggy from the previous night and there’s scarcely more than a handful of words muttered between us on a good morning. It’s mostly for Damian’s sake that I stay in the Manor when I’m in town.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You know, it wasn’t always like this. When I was a kid, things were different. I don’t know when everything changed...” He was beginning to tense again. He didn’t want to leave here…leave her. It felt safe at the Gordon’s. Like home should feel. 

Dick knew he could get away with spending most of the day with Babs, but by evening, he would need to head back to the Manor and make his report about the previous night. He’d need to relive the whole experience again. While he knew Bruce was glad that they were safe, he’d also made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t happy. His face had been set in a permanent scowl as he surveyed the scene of the rescue and the scowl only deepened when he learned that Red Hood and Huntress were involved. There was that underlying growl in his voice as he demanded updates. The growl Bruce defaulted to whenever things went pear shaped. Dick was certain when he got back to the Manor he was in for another series of lectures about what he did wrong. 

“Dick, look at me. Breathe.” Babs moved so she crouched in front of him while still holding his hands. “Are you okay?” 

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Just....you know....aftermath stuff. And Bruce. He....wasn’t happy last night.”

Babs intuited what he was really saying. “I’ll be there with you the whole way.”

“Thanks, Babs.” He leaned in so their foreheads touched. “I love you.” 

Dick wasn’t certain how long they had stayed like that, taking comfort in each other’s presence, before Jim had wandered back into his living room. Babs’ dad cleared his throat. “Ahem. Sorry to interrupt.”

“What’s up?” Babs’ gaze darted around the room, searching the shadows for threats. Though she hid it well, Babs was also still on edge after the previous evening. 

“The grill’s ready.” He gestured at Dick. “Come on out and lend me a hand.”  

Dick hesitated, gauging Babs’ reaction. She smiled and gave a nod in her Dad’s direction.

“Go on. I’m starving.” As if to collaborate the statement, her stomach growled. 

“Okay.” As he stood, he helped her to her feet. She grasped his arm and pulled out of the crouch. Her legs protested the shift in position, sending pins and needles up and down her limbs. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. With his thumb, he rubbed circles at the small of her back. 

“I’ll join you shortly,” she said, dropping the embrace.

As he followed Jim out to the backyard, Babs turned up the volume of the music until it was almost too loud. 

 

Dick couldn’t help but watch through the backdoor as Babs sliced strawberries and pineapple and kiwi for a fruit salad with a little more ferocity than the process required. She sang along to the record and danced. Watching her work in the sunny kitchen was so different from watching her the previous evening with her stiff formality at the gala or her feigned helplessness during the abduction. She had never been this at ease at the Manor as she was in this moment at the Gordon family home. He felt it too. Even in borrowed sweats and a t-shirt, Dick felt at home. 

Jim hummed along to the music as he expertly tended to the steaks. “So, I noticed things were a bit tense between you and Bruce last night.”

Dick shrugged. Jim hadn’t really needed his help with the grilling, just someone to talk to. 

“I realise the whole situation was stressful, so it probably isn’t a good example of how things usually are. Hmm? All that to say, how are you doing?” Jim wasn’t asking simply because it was his job, rather he was genuinely concerned about his daughter’s boyfriend. 

The younger man started. He hadn’t expected Jim to notice. Or, care. “That’s just the way things are with Bruce. He expects a lot out of us....”

 Jim placed a strong steadying hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Once we realised you were abducted, I sequestered your dad, brothers, and myself in his study. We needed to wait for a ransom call and keep your brothers safe. I experience first hand how Bruce dealt with the whole situation. He was worried sick about you and Babs. While we were waiting to find out what happened, he put on a good face, but the waiting and the anxiety were eating him up inside. At least I had my duty to fall back on, but he couldn’t fall back on his. That is, there was nothing _Bruce_ could do except wait. It made him feel useless. Probably a bit like he failed you.” 

“He could have said something when he arrived.” Dick frowned. Sure, it was great hearing that Bruce cared about you when you weren’t around, but that didn’t help when he made you feel like everything you did was wrong when you were in the same room. 

“He was giving you space to comfort your brother. Damian was quite distraught. I think he wanted to tear Sinclair apart with his bare hands, let alone the kidnappers if he had found them first.”

Dick froze in place. He hadn’t considered that Bruce might have had a reason for holding back. Could it be possible that he was thinking about his sons’ needs before his own? That was actually more considerate of his dad than Dick usually gave him credit. 

When Dick didn’t respond with anything other than a contemplative stare into the middle distance, Jim continued. “I probably shouldn’t have hijacked the both of you last night and insisted you stay here. It was selfish of me. I wanted to be reassured that both of you would be okay. That no one would take you again. Bruce felt the same way. I didn’t realise until later that he was just about to ask you to stay with him when I beat him to the punch.”

This was much too human of an interpretation of Bruce’s actions for Dick to fully accept. Where was Jim getting this from? “He...he didn’t say anything. How am I supposed to know what he’s thinking? All he did was growl about our rescuers.”

“Well, Red Hood and Huntress wouldn’t have been my first choice of a rescue party either, though I’m glad they were out there. I heard the rest of the Bats were otherwise occupied.” Jim returned to the grill and flipped over the steaks. “I have a feeling that Hood’s and Huntress’ presence only increased his feelings of helplessness. They did what he couldn’t.” 

“I’ll think about it.” He needed to talk to Babs about this. Maybe she could help him understand.

“How are the steaks?” Babs carried two lemonades and a Guinness as she made her way down the ramp from the backdoor. She handed the beer to her father and one of the lemonades to Dick. 

“Thanks.” Dick took a sip of the cold beverage glad for the distraction.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jim said, addressing his daughter this time. “We should probably hold off on the game for today. The two of you really ought to go see Bruce sooner than later.” 

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she leaned against Dick. “But...”

“He’s Dick’s dad and he was just as worried as I was when you disappeared. Now that you’ve let me fuss over the two of you, you should let him do the same. Let him know that you will be alright. You owe him that much.” 

“I know.” She sighed heavily, but that didn’t mask the determined look in her eyes that she had whenever she set her mind to a task. 

“Good. Now, you two go in and set the table. Steaks will be done in a moment.” He shooed them away with a flick of his hand.

Babs grabbed Dick’s hand and led him inside. Once they were in the dining room and out of view, Dick wrapped Babs in another embrace, holding her close. He wanted to stay like this forever. As peaceful as it was here, he knew he needed to return to the chaos of the rest of his life. “I don’t want this to end.” 

“You know,” Babs said softly, “in our life together, we don’t have to do things the way Bruce or my dad do. We get to decide what kind of home we want to have.” 

He breathed in the scent of her hair. “Then this is what I want. You and me. A family. A home where we love and respect each other; one that is a refuge to return to as we continue to fight the good fight. A place where we want to come home to. Maybe, if you agree—if it’s even possible—a home that’s welcoming to the whole family.”

“That sounds idyllic.” She pulled him into a kiss and didn’t let go. 

 

 


	4. Bandages and Ballet - A Cassandra and Alfred Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once a week Alfred stops by Cassandra's apartment to clean while she is on patrol. This week an injured Cassandra comes home early. Alfred tends to her wounds and Cassandra dances.
> 
> Takes place between 'Missing Pieces' and the next chaptered story.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has an un-cited Shakespeare quote. It's from 'Macbeth' and I think it's pretty obvious.

After gathering the dirty laundry left strewn about Cassandra’s apartment during his initial sweep, Alfred started the washing machine. While the machine worked, he gathered bags from the utility closet and started his second circuit of the apartment. This time he picked up trash and straightened piles of miscellanea. She’d gotten better over the years about not dropping everything wherever she finished with it.

 _Better_ , he sighed as he picked another soda can off the floor and tossed it in with the recyclables, _but still in need of improvement_. 

He hummed to himself as he steadily worked through the room, leaving a clear path in his wake. Once the random debris was removed from the floor, he could hoover it. He checked his watch. Good, he was staying on schedule. Barbara had the comms tonight, so he wouldn’t be expected back at the Manor until later. At this pace, he’d have time to make a few meals for Cassandra and place them in the freezer before she returned home from patrol. 

As the vacuum cleaner wound down, Alfred started at the creak of floorboards elsewhere in the apartment. It was too early for Cassandra to return unless something was wrong. Silently, he crept across the apartment towards the sound. A light flicked on in the bathroom. Drawers and cabinets were opened and slammed shut with a force he recognised, though the pattern was off. 

“Pardon me, Miss Cassandra, I didn’t realise....” He paused in his tracks as he faced the open door. 

Cassandra had stripped out of her uniform the moment she’d crawled through her window as evidenced by the trail of gear strewn between her bedroom and the bathroom. She wore nothing but her undergarments, giving Alfred a clear view of her injuries. With the trained eye developed over the years of tending to the family, he began to catalog her injuries as she riffled through the bathroom in search of bandages and antiseptic. 

A bruise was beginning to swell around her right eye and the skin along her cheekbone was split. Over her back and arms new scratches layered over years of old scars. The lacerations on her back and arms were consistent with the injuries sustained when breaking through a window. With only a cursory examination, he noted glass shards in at least a few of the wounds. Though she pressed a piece of her uniform against her side with her elbow, she held her shoulder at a precarious angle that made him think she’d dislocated it on her way home. It had long ceased to surprise him that he recognised such injuries and their likely causes by sight. 

“May I see your side?” 

She didn’t respond but didn’t fight him as he peeled back the black fabric and examined the wound. This was her version of confirmation. A bullet had grazed her side. 

“Sit.” He commanded as he opened the cabinet with the medical supplies he’d needed to attend her wounds. 

Cassandra hopped up on the counter, without wincing as the movement jostled her injuries. Her eyes were bright with pain, but her lips never quivered. If he hadn’t seen the injuries for himself, he would never have realised their extent by her face alone. He’d heard the stories of how she was raised and of her father’s cruel tutelage. She’d learned to hide her pain because doing the opposite had meant a double infliction. Though no one in their family expected her to hide, some habits were too deeply ingrained to break easily. 

Alfred resisted the urge to lash out at all those past and present who dared hurt any of his children—from Bruce to Damian—and make the malefactors pay. There were too many times he wished he could wrap the entire family in cotton wool and keep them safe in the Manor. Since that was impossible, he redoubled his efforts in attending to her injuries. If he could not stop them, he would protect them in the only way he could—by tending to their needs both physical and psychological and making certain they knew they always had a safe harbour with him. 

“What happened?” Alfred asked as he meticulously cleaned each wound. 

‘Found last guns. Gone now,’ she signed. Though she didn’t elaborate, he could guess what had happened. Cassandra had been seeking out the guns that had recently come into Gotham from Blüdhaven in exchange for drugs. The criminals who held the last of the guns weren’t keen on giving them up. If they thought that they could keep their ill-gotten gains by fighting Black Bat, they were sorely mistaken. He was certain the gunmen were left in worse shape than Cassandra appeared. 

Even though her task was completed, he knew she wouldn’t rest. Oh, she wouldn’t go out again this evening, but she would be back on the streets tomorrow. Her injuries wouldn’t deter her in the least. Biting his lip he refrained from commenting. They rarely listened when he insisted they rest and heal from their injuries before heading out again. He refused to hound them. If he pushed too hard, the stubborn bunch would not come to him when they needed help. All he could do was hope that someday they would find peace and an end to their mission. Until that day, he had work to do. He would not retire before they hung up their masks. 

He hummed while he worked. Cassandra picked up on the melody and hummed along to the piece she would perform in her upcoming recital. It distracted both of them while he methodically cleaned and bandaged every wound. 

It felt as though he had worked for hours, though it had only been forty-five minutes—a singular hour at most. He straightened and stretched. Cassandra smiled at him and signed, ‘Thanks.’ 

“You’re welcome.” He returned the smile, though he knew his wasn’t as bright as hers. There was still work to do. With his initial cursory assessment, he hadn’t noticed any obvious injuries to her legs, but it wouldn’t do to miss something because he hadn’t checked. 

As he bent over to examine her legs and feet, she placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away. 

‘No.’ She brushed her thumb against the fingertips of her first two fingers. 

Once again he straightened and this time he met her eyes with the stony no-nonsense expression that even Bruce knew better than to second-guess. “What are you hiding?”

‘Nothing,’ she signed as she tucked her legs up onto the counter. The brief movement drew his attention to her feet. 

No matter how hard he tried to maintain his inscrutable expression, he couldn’t help but gape at what he saw. “Show me your feet, young lady.” 

Slowly she uncurled from her huddled position. She stretched her legs and pointed her toes. It was worse than he had expected. Though he had treated her injuries hundreds of times, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her with bare feet. Even when she walked around the Manor unshod, she wore socks. 

Several toes on each foot were wrapped with athletic tape. Bandages with ragged edges covered multiple injuries. Her toes gave the impression of being crowded too close together. The toenail of the big toe on her right foot was discoloured. The rest of her nails were in scarcely better shape. In general her feet were calloused and blistered. A freshly broken blister wept as he examined her soles. The only way he could think to describe the state of her feet was almost raw and decidedly red. After all the injuries he’d seen and tended to over the years, why were these the ones that he recoiled from? 

He wanted to look away, but didn’t allow himself to avoid what was right in front of him. “When did this happen?” 

She shrugged. Her lips pulled into a tight line and her fingers entwined into knots. Either she didn’t know when the injuries occurred or they were a persistent problem. Whichever was the reason, she didn’t want to tell him. 

“How did this happen?” He held her gaze with his own until she was forced to look away. 

As she dropped her gaze, she answered his question. ‘Dance.’ 

“You need to stop this. Now.” His words were tinged with urgency. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her feet to heal. 

Her head jerked up and she met his gaze with a steely one of her own.

‘No,’ she signed with more ferocity than he had thought the situation warranted.

“But...” Why did they never listen to him? He had their best interests at heart. 

‘Go. Sit. Wait.’ Her signs directed him to the living room with a determination he couldn’t ignore. He did as she signed. 

He didn’t have to wait long before she appeared in the living room wearing one of her dance leotards and pointe shoes. As if in concession to his concerns, her injured arm rested in a sling. Before he could ask what she thought she was doing, she tapped out a beat. Despite her injuries and without music, Cassandra began to dance. 

It wasn’t any of the ballets he knew. It was no _Giselle_ or _Swan Lake_. No _Sleeping Beauty_ or _Romeo and Juliet_. Still, she danced a story he knew by heart— _her_ story. With strength and grace, she told her story in a way he’d never experienced it before.

Through her movements, Alfred watched as her life unfolded before him. Each major event moved the story along like a new act in a ballet. As a child, lonely and driven she had longed for something she had not understood at the time. There was her first kill and the break from her father. While still young—much too young to be on her own—she had fled from the only life she knew because she didn’t want to be the weapon Cain had sought to mould her into. She had stayed two steps ahead of the authorities and one step ahead of her father, until she came to Gotham. Here, she’d met Barbara and Bruce. She worked with Tim and Dick, connected with Jean Paul and befriended Stephanie. 

As dawn began to colour the sky the brilliant shades of morning, she portrayed her adoption and acceptance into the family she’d always desired, even when she hadn’t known what it meant. He experienced the love and belonging Cassandra cherished as part of their family. Through her dance, she had bared her soul to him in a way that only hearing the words could never truly convey. 

She ended in a deep reverence. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. When she looked up, he signed, ‘Beautiful. Thank you.’

Sitting on the couch beside him, she began to untie the ribbons on her shoes with her uninjured hand. Her fingers trembled as she worked the knots from the ribbons she had sewn onto the shoes herself.

He touched her shoulder, drawing her attention. ‘Help?’

With a nod of her head, the ribbons fell from her fingers and she sank back into the couch. She closed her eyes and hummed until sleep took hold and escorted her to dreamland. He worked silently, first removing the shoes, then lotioning and re-bandaging her feet. When he finished, he settling her onto the couch so her injured shoulder and side wouldn’t take any excessive pressure and adjusted her legs so they wouldn’t cramp. He tucked her in with the blanket he’d earlier folded over the back of the couch. Unlike the boys, she slept peacefully. Life had thrown so many hardships at her while she was still so young, and she came through the trials stronger. She was innocent and vulnerable in so many ways, but she was also made of tempered steel.

Cassandra was right. He could not ask her to give up ballet. This was how she expressed herself. She poured out her heart through her movements in a way that neither words nor sign could ever truly express for her. Though there was pain in the process, to her, the dance was worth it. 

It reminded him of his early days on the stage. He remembered the advice he had been given time and time again. _If there is anything else you want to do besides act, do that instead. But, if the theatre is truly where your heart lies, then it is worth all the sacrifice and effort._ And, it was. For that season in his life, the stage had been his home. It was where he belonged and nothing else would have satisfied. 

For him, that time had ended. After leaving the theatre, he found himself with the Waynes and he never regretted it. This was his home and his family. And though he no longer, ‘struts and frets his hour upon the stage,’ he still employed the skills he learned when he had regularly trod upon the boards. The sacrifices had been worth the pain. 

For Cassandra, this was still her time to dance. It might never end for her, but that wasn’t up for him to decide. This was her decision and he would support it. 

Alfred stood in the doorway and flicked out the lights. In a stage whisper, he said, “Good night, Miss Cassandra.”

“Good night, Alfred,” she murmured more than half asleep. 

He smiled and locked the door behind him as he left the same way he’d entered. Later he would bring her meals for the freezer and to tidy up the mess left in the hall. These were the small gifts he gave her. They were silent reminders that she was part of the family, loved and cherished. Wanted and valued. Tonight, she had given him a gift in return, one that he would always cherish. 

 


End file.
